


Dog Eat Dog

by Tyranno



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian is three when he first sees someone die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Eat Dog

Damian is three when he first sees someone die. 

It was over something stupid, it usually would be—a woman, a card game, an insult, an accident—and the knife slid so fast and with such precision it was as if his throat had opened up on its own, spewing blood like a second maw. 

The man falls like a rag doll, a dull meaty thud. 

If anything shocked Damian, it was how easy it had been. How little righteous fury it had taken. No Marid cackled in the shadows, no soul flickered softly out of the man's glassy eyes. It hadn't taken a long, rough battle to achieve. It was almost hard to believe it had happened at all. 

The man's blood coated the bottoms of his bare feet. It is sticky and makes his skin crawl, but he can't look away. He tries to scrape the worst of it off, but all he manages is getting it in between his toes, thick and hot. 

The league assassin glances at him, and seems to properly notice him for he first time. He seems pleased with himself. “You never forget your first, do you, kid?” 

He pokes the body with his toe. 

Damian watched him roll. He has to remind himself to breathe. 

The assassin was right. 

He never forgot. 

 

*

 

Damian is six when he kills for the first time. 

League members loved to tell him how it would be, how it was for them. They are big and burly and not discouraged by his sour silence in the least. They talk and talk, and he listens and listens because he is not sure if he could fight them, and even if he could the only way to win a battle in the league grounds was to have one less warm body around. 

They tell him you only know you're alive once you've killed. Only felt fear until you've watched a man die. Only felt true power when you taste the blood of your enemies, watched their weeping families try to understand. A man has not lived until he has taken someone's life. 

It is cold inside the mountain, but he waits in the shadows. Dust and grit grind under his feet, and the sword is heavier in his hands than it felt a few hours ago. 

He catches the man as he walks through the entrance. Clean, short swing, straight through the jugular. 

Blood sears Damian's face, and the man crumples. Falls like a broken toy, limp and ruined. 

The man is dead, never saw his face, but his eyes are so wide and so angry Damian shrinks back into the shadows, anything to avoid the cold fury.

Damian doesn't feel alive, or powerful.

He is terrified. 

 

*

 

Damian only asks the smiling batman, and only once. 

“—the thing you don't seem to realise, Damian, is that you could have killed that man,” Grayson is saying, quickly as if he can't quite keep up with his own thoughts. “You can so close, I thought—”

“So?” Damian asks, and he feels the indecision like a physical pressure inside his gut. His head goes light, and it's like he's on a tightrope, not sure if his balance will keep him from the plunge.

It's the wrong thing to say. 

Grayson recoils, blue eyes wide. He goes to say something, but it never makes it past his throat. He can't quite understand. 

Damian needs an answer so badly it's shameful. He pulls back too, hunching his shoulders, scowling deeply. “They're criminals, aren't they?” He mutters feebly. 

Grayson sighs, and kneels in front of him, the never-tiring smile so easy to look at Damian has to look away. “It's not like that, Dami,” Grayson's voice is warm, like fresh bread, “These 'criminals' are people too. Some of them've just fallen in with the wrong crowd, they need a few nights in jail to sober up and get their lives back on track. They'll pay, but you can't learn anything when you're dead.” 

Damian nods stiffly, still looking away. The pressure in his gut is unbearable, urging him to leave, to fight, to move, to defend himself. He feels like he's on the verge of something terrible. It's a miracle he can stay still. 

Grayson raises an eyebrow. “Hey, some people think we're criminals. You wouldn't want someone killing me, would you?” 

Damian knows what it would be like, all it takes is a stray thought to bring all the memories rushing back, pouring through him like a broken dam. It streams behind his eyes, vibrant and more real than the cave around them. Grayson, his neck slit and drowning in blood. Grayson, his nose forced back into his face. Grayson, his skull collapsed and weeping red. Grayson, clutching at his chest, riddled with bullets. Grayson, tugging feebly at a sword growing from his guts. Grayson, his lungs pulled through his back like bird wings. 

Damian stumbles back, shaking his head stiffly. The images won't leave. 

“Hey? Are you alright?” Grayson stands, whole. But in the back of Damian's mind he's stretched across a foreign floor, muscles peeled back to show shining ribs. He's scrabbling at his throat as the air is squeezed out of it. He's shaking and shaking, poison stripping his insides bare. “Do you want to go get something to eat?” Grayson asks, but Damian can barely hear him. 

“Whatever.” Damian manages to shove the word past the huge lump in his throat. He can barely breathe. Damian can almost feel himself doing it. His muscles remember crushing the life out of a man's neck. He can feel the flesh under his fingers. He can taste the blood. 

Grayson advances on him, slow and careful. It's like seeing a ghost. 

Damian feels fear rise in his chest, and suddenly he's running. 

“Wait—Damian!” Grayson calls after him, but the pounding in Damian's ears drown him out. 

Damian is running, each step shaking his body. He's trembling, quivering in Gotham's night air. Grayson is lying bleeding and broken on the floor of a warehouse, Grayson is clawing at his own eye-sockets and screaming, Grayson is watching his hand being shattered and screaming, Grayson is screaming, screaming, screaming—

Damian runs.


End file.
